I and Love and You
by Ricke
Summary: When the love of his life gets married, will he be able to cope?
1. Chapter 1 - Richard

**Hello everyone and welcome to this little story. I'm not entirely sure where this is going, except that it'll be Richobel. I don't usually post stories, as I'm not much of a writer but there are not enough Richobels here so here it is.**

 **Disclaimer: Not my characters, otherwise we wouldn't be in need of this fiction. This would be canon...**

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The bells started chiming, signaling the end of the wedding inside the church. Married in the eyes of God, never to be unmarried again. 'Till death thee doth part.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, making the whole town glow. Snow covered every surface and the sunshine reflected magnificently. Everything seemed to twinkle.

It was beautiful. And of course it would be for this wedding. Of course it would be…

I was standing outside partially behind a tree so that I could see the church, would be able to catch a glimpse of the couple but they would hopefully not see me. Why should they? They will be smiling at each other lovingly. How I hate myself for hating that thought. I wish I could be happy for them, happy for her…

I had been invited to the wedding. It was a handwritten card. One day, when I came home I had found it slipped under my doorstep. "Please come", she had written on the envelope. I knew right then that I wouldn't. To see her get married to him… To see my whole life fall to pieces.. I couldn't bear the thought. She knew that I would do anything for her but this I couldn't do.

The first guests stepped out of the church, shielding their eyes from the blinding sunlight that greeted them after the long ceremony in the relatively dark building. They looked pretty in their formal dresses and suits. Very classy, very handsome, very much above my class. I wouldn't fit in there. I wouldn't look right. I had a formal suit, of course I did, but I didn't belong there. I told myself, that this was the reason why I had refused to attend the ceremony. Maybe I would believe myself one day. Those people made me feel even more useless then I usually felt. They, often unintentionally, made me aware of the differences in our standings. Even though I was a respected member of the community, I wasn't a Lord or Earl or anything like them. I was a simple doctor. A man with an occupation, a place he went to work at every day. Someone who got paid for helping people. While I usually loved my job, today I hated it. I wasn't like them and they knew it and let it slip every now and again. I couldn't stand it. Not today, not ever.

"You shouldn't have come, old chap." I said aloud to no one but the tree I was hiding behind. Just as I was about to turn away, she stepped out of the church and I was frozen in spot. She looked so… so… angelic. She didn't wear a dress but instead a dark blue skirt and a white blouse. It wasn't anything particularly special, but the sun caught in her brown hair and made it shine in such a way that she seemed to be giving off a light from within. And she probably was, she always was. So beautiful… so out of my reach.

And married to another man. I would have gladly given my life in that moment to be the man next to her. Even if it meant that it would be a short lived happiness, I would have given everything just to hold her this once.

"Come with me." I heard someone say from behind me as they touched my shoulder. It was a soft Scottish accent. Elsie Hughes, no Carson. She was married and happily so. She had gotten her fairytale ending.

"Let's get you home", she said when I didn't move a muscle at her first sentence. Still I couldn't move, couldn't turn my eyes away from _her,_ away from the woman I loved.

"Please, it won't get easier by watching. Come with me. Let's get you home, in front of a fire and a glass of whiskey into your hand. Please." She had grasped my hand now and pulled slightly in order to turn me around. When I finally tore my eyes away from the happy couple and they instead settled on Elsie Carson, I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I- I… I", I stammered before I slumped into her arms that were ready to catch me.

"Sh. You'll be alright. It'll be alright." she soothed. We both knew she was lying. It wouldn't be alright. It would never be alright again.

We slowly started walking away once I had regained some grip on myself. As she said, she took me home, helped me into the worn armchair in front of the fire and pressed a glass of whiskey into my hand. She stayed for an hour before she had to leave.

"Take care of yourself. I'll be back to check on you tomorrow." I only managed a nod. When I heard the door fall shut, I got up and went to get the remaining bottle of Whiskey. The glass remained standing on the side table. I wouldn't be in need of it.

"Congratulations." I said to the empty room before I brought the bottle to my lips.

It was a beautiful day, the day Mrs. Isobel Crawley became Baroness Merton.

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 **Alright, so this is the beginning. Sadly, I haven't seen the finale. But I gathered, that Isobel chose Lord Merton... Working with that I've decided to give this idea a go.**

 **Please review if you can find the time.**

 **And one last thing: If someone's interested in betaing this story, please send me a PM.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Isobel

**Hey everyone. I'm back for the second chapter.**

 **First: Thank you all so much for your feedback! I really loved reading each review and getting follower/favourite-alerts. Thank you. =)**

 **Second: A HUGE thank you to batwings79 for offering to beta this story. It's great to have someone look throught the thing before I post it and to have her question my ideas and thoughts. Thanks a lot.**

 **Without futher ado: Have a good read.**

 **Disclaimer: Not my characters. I'm only borrowing them.**

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It was a lovely day! I had hoped it would be and it turned out to be even lovelier than I could have imagined. Getting married in winter had seemed rather daring to anyone. They were probably right. But I had always wanted to get married in the winter with snow covering the grounds and, as it was this day, the sun shining. Dickie hated the idea.

When I first mentioned it, I saw him scrunch up his forehead and lift one eyebrow, before he collected himself and schooled his face back into a nice smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Whatever you want, Isobel.", he said and I felt wonderful knowing that I had finally found someone who not only accepted my ideas, my ways, me … but who also went along with what I wanted to do. So we set the date. Five weeks later, on the second day of the new year we got married.

It was a lovely little ceremony. Well, "little"… It was after all a Lord's wedding. It couldn't be all that little. But we didn't have to invite all the Lords of the House of Lords… only a few. And of course, there were Mary and George, Cora and Robert, Cousin Violet – my family.

During the whole ceremony I smiled. My face felt as though it had frozen. Maybe that was why I wanted to marry in the winter? So my smile wouldn't falter? Before I stepped into the church - unescorted, for who was there to give me away? - I took a deep breath and reminded myself that this was what I wanted.

"I want to get married today.", I said to myself.

Stepping inside, I couldn't see mucht. It was so bright outside, that the church seemed pitch black at first. And just for a small part of a second, I thought I saw _him_ standing at the front, waiting together with the vicar. I wished it was him, but then my eyes adjusted and I saw that it was indeed Dickie, my dear Dickie. I commanded my thoughts to stay in the moment. They strayed nonetheless.

 _Don't go down that road, Izzie. You're happy. You want to get married today_. My smile returned even wider than it had been before and I started my slow walk up to the altar.

The church looked neat and … lovely. Everything was lovely it seems. There were flowers along the pews, lilies, as I had requested. Dickie didn't want lilies. He said they belonged to funerals. "But my darling, I love lilies. They will look lovely." So lilies I got. They did look just as I had imagined. They took the white of the snow into the church. And they contrasted perfectly with the black suits of the men. Just as I had planned.

While I walked, I couldn't stop my eyes from roaming the people. Where was he? I had invited him, had written the invitation myself and even wrote something on the envelope. Could it have not reached him? But that was impossible. I had slipped it under his door. He must have decided not to come. 'Can you blame him?' A voice asked in my head. I probably couldn't. 'Would you have gone to his wedding?' I stopped for a second. _His wedding? No! Never! He wouldn't make me attend. He wouldn't marry … would he?_ I shook my head a little to get rid of the thought.

And when I focused on the front of the church again, my smile slid back into place.

My soon to be husband smiled as well. Not the whole time as I did, but he smiled and most of all, he looked at me so lovingly that I felt tears welling in my eyes. He would never see the same love in my eyes.

When it was time for the vows, I started fidgeting .

"I, Richard Grey, Baron Merton, take thee, Isobel Crawley, to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth." He looked so relieved when he had finished the sentence and so happy. I nearly forgot I had to say the same.

"I, Isobel Crawley, take thee, Richard - " my throat constricted. 'Clarkson!' A voice screamed in my head. "- take thee, Richard G-Grey, Baron Merton, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

My cadence became faster with every word I said. I just wanted to get it over with all the while ordering the voice in my head to stop saying the doctor's name. _I'm not marrying him! I'm not marrying him!_

I jumped slightly when someone, my husband, grabbed my hand to slide a ring on it. I didn't register his words. I was his wife now. His wife. And he was my husband. Richard Grey, Baron Merton, my husband. Till death do us part…

The guests slowly left the church when the bells started chiming. My husband and I came last. The sun was still shining as brightly as before. Again my eyes roamed. He hadn't come. He wasn't there. Just when I had decided to give him a good telling off the next day at the hospital, I saw him. He was standing partially behind a tree wrapped in the arms of a woman! A woman! How dare he come to my wedding with another woman!? When they turned a little, I could make out her face. Elsie Hughes, no – Carson. Elsie Carson. She had gotten her fairytale ending. Or so I had thought.

Why was she here, clinging to my – what was he? _Your husband? He's standing next to you. Richard Clarkson isn't committed to you in any way._ I started hating that voice. Of course he wasn't committed to me. But Elsie Carson was damn well committed to her husband! When they parted, she took him by the arm and led him away. For the shortest moment I saw his face and it looked as though there were tears on his cheek. That couldn't be.

They walked slowly and the longer I watched them, the more obvious it became, that Mrs. Carson wasn't holding his arm only in a friendly manner, but rather that she was steadying him and giving him something to lean on. I wanted to go to them, take over, care for Richard as I had done before, when he had the flu, or when he had hurt his foot during a cricket game. Just as I nearly forgot where I was, when I was ready to go and look after my friend, find out what was wrong, a hand encircled my waist.

"To my beautiful wife!", Dickie said to our guests - his friends, my acquaintances - cheered as my new husband bent down to give me a kiss.

It was a lovely day.

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 **A/N: Please leave me a review if you can find the time. I**


	3. Chapter 3 - Elsie

**Hey there. Whoever reads this: Thanks for being here and sticking with me. And thanks again to batwings79 for betaing this story. You're doing a wonderful job. =)**

 **Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my setting. But my idea of how it could continue.**

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My knuckles connected with the wooden door creating a rapping followed by profound silence. I repeated the motion – again, nothing. I leaned slightly to the right in order to be able to look into the long window next to the door. There was no movement to be seen, the house was dark. _What has the man done now?_

"Doctor Clarkson?" I called out through the closed door. I was answered by silence once more. "Oh, for Christ's sake, just-" Muttering and against everything I had learned and against all my principles, I tried the doorknob. It moved easily, he hadn't locked up the previous night.

When I entered the cottage, I felt as though I was engulfed by an atmosphere and darkness. The curtains were drawn and no lamp was switched on. Oh how I hate an atmosphere!

"Doctor Clarkson?", I said again, this time silently and cautiously. Who knew what state he was in? I received no answer. First, I checked the kitchen. It looked exactly the same as the day before. Except for the bottle of whiskey that I had left on the worktop. I willed my mind not to draw the obvious conclusions.

Next, I went into his study, the only other room downstairs, besides the kitchen and living room. I had been in the doctor's house before. When I first arrived in Downton, he was the only person I could relate to as a fellow countryman. We became friends. I think we would have become more, had I not fallen in love with Charles. After I had told him, that I had fallen in love, that I had decided to wait for the stubborn butler to love me as well, he slowly distanced himself from me. Now we were merely acquaintances.

When I had heard about Mrs. Crawley's marriage, I knew that he would need someone to lean on. I had been sure that they would eventually realize that they loved each other. Obviously she didn't. I knew it would break his heart. That's why I went to find him yesterday.

His study looked as chaotic as ever. However, nothing seemed to have been touched lately. I had often teased him about his slight tendency towards untidiness.

" _How do you manage to find anything in here?" I would ask._

" _I know where everything is. A genius can master chaos." He would answer with a twinkle in his eye and a smug smile in my direction._

When I entered the living room, I was met with the strong smell of alcohol. _Found the bottle_. I took one more step and nearly fell for something rolled out from under my foot. "And another one...", I muttered.

He was still sitting in the armchair, unmoving, staring into the dying fire. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt was stained. Probably from the whiskey that didn't make it into his mouth. His jacket lay crinkled on the floor and he must have stepped on it a few times, judging by the state it was in. He had taken off his tie. I couldn't see it anywhere.

"Oh Richard..." The sight of him nearly made me cry.

When he heard my voice, he didn't startle, he just merely turned his head unseeingly in my direction.

"What are ye doin' here?" he asked and turned his head back to the fire. His voice sounded hoarse.

"The question is, what are _you_ doing here?" I sounded slightly scolding and I wanted to, needed to in order to get my question through his alcohol clouded skull and into his brain.

"None o' yer business.." he simply answered. And then he took another sip from a bottle. Where did he even store all that alcohol?

"What do you mean? I told you to take care of yourself! And you go ahead and drink right through the night? Richard, listen to me, Richard -"

"Ye're callin' me Richard. She ne'er called me Richard. Only e'er Doct'r Clarks'n. But what right do ye have to call me Richard?" His voice escalated with each phrase.

I took one step away from him at his sudden outburst. He stared at me now,his piercing gaze seemed to try and burn my eyes out.

"Richard, I -"

"Yes, _Elsie, love._ You? Ye're no better than she is, ye are!" He had managed to stand up from the armchair now and came towards me. I was rooted to the spot. "I loved you once, you know?", he whispered when he stood directly in front of me. His accent had lessened and he appeared to be sober all of a sudden.

"I loved you, even had a ring for you and what did you do? You went ahead and decided to marry someone else. Someone else, Elsie. It's never me. It's always someone else." A lock of my hair that had fallen out of the tight bun captured his attention. He took it between his fingers. He leaned very close and inhaled deeply, before he brought his mouth close to my ear.

"Leave, Elsie. Leave me alone and don't come back. Do you hear? I don't want to see you here. Ever again. Go to your husband, be happy, but leave me alone." When he fell quiet he let the strand of my hair glide through his fingers. He turned around and took some steps away from me.

"But Richard, I'm only -" I had to try again, get through to him, make sure he would be alright.

"Leave!" he bellowed, and it was only due to my quick reflexes that I managed to duck the bottle that came flying my way and collided with the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces; alcohol dripping down the wallpaper.

When I closed the front door behind me, the tears started to fall. I had never before seen him so enraged. Richard was a quiet man, a patient man. _But even the quietest people have their breaking point._ I just hoped he would manage to overcome it. That he would manage to pick up the pieces afterwards.

I left then, and I didn't look back once.

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	4. Chapter 4 - Isobel

**Welcome back. Here's the next chapter. Thanks to those who left a review. I loved each and every one of them and they do make me smile and encourage me to keep writing this little thing.**

 **And as always, a BIG thank you goes to batwings79 for her endless patience. Correcting my mistakes must be tedious. Thank you!**

 **Disclaimer: Not my characters.**

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"What are you reading, my love?"

"Hm?" I slowly looked up from the page, marked the end of the sentence with my thumb and closed the book.

Dickie chuckled softly and looked at me with eyes full of happiness. "I asked you, what you were reading."

"Oh just a book Rich – Doctor Clarkson had lent me before… before we got married..." My eyes slowly sank down to my lap where I held the volume.

" _Here." he said, pressing a book into my hands._

" _What's that?" I asked, opening the book: The Treatment of Diabetes Mellitus with Insulin. My gaze turned back to him so swiftly that I heard the joints in my neck creak and felt my muscles strain._ " _You… ? I…? What?" It was probably impolite of me to simply gape at him as I did._

" _Well..." His right hand went up to scratch the back of his head, as it always did when he felt unsure about something. "I… yesterday at the Abbey, during dinner, you and Lady Grantham were talking about young Mr. Perkins. And … And you said that you were impressed with this new medication they used to try and treat him. And.. Well, I thought you might like the book?"_

 _It wasn't really a question but it wasn't a normal statement either. His voice went up towards the end of the sentence as it sometimes did. Another sign that showed his nervousness._

" _You see, they, Macleod and Banting, they just received a Nobel Prize for their discovery of insulin. Two years ago. And well, I thought you might like to read about the insulin treatment. It's what they used for young Mr. Perkins."_

 _I couldn't help thinking that he looked adorable, with his eyes downcast, his right hand still scratching the back of his head and the fingers of his left hand clenching and unclenching aimlessly._

" _Of course, if you don't want it, then you don't have to-"_

" _Thank you, Doctor Clarkson." I interrupted before he thought I didn't like the book. I had been too busy studying him to notice that he needed me to reassure him on this little gesture._

" _Thank you very much." As a response, his face broke into a wide and sincere smile._

"I can see that. What's it about?" My husbands voice brought me out of my daydream.

"Hm? Oh, ehm, it's about insulin."

"Why are you reading that? You don't work in the hospital anymore. No need to read up on the new procedures."

He never understood why I liked to read medical journals and books. Even though he, himself, was interested in medicine, he couldn't grasp why I would spend most of my time on the topic.

"Would you rather I did some needlework?" I answered, sounding harsher than I had intended to. I wanted it to come out as a slight joke, however it turned out to be sarcastic and provocative. "We are past that era, are we not?" Usually, I would have ended my sentence with a smile, instead I opened the book and started reading again.

"Isobel, you know that -"

"You shouldn't have married me if you wanted some wifey, someone who always smiles nicely, looks pretty and doesn't use her head." I don't know why I said it. I loved Dickie. Really, I did…in some way…and I knew he didn't think any of the things I was accusing him of.

It grew silent then. He turned back to his desk, taking care of his correspondence and I tried to read again. However, all of the words, that had made sense before and formed sentences didn't connect with any meaning. My mind was distracted.

We often had stimulating conversations about politics, the flourishing economy in the United States compared to England's stagnant growth, religion – anything really. Anything but medicine. His opinions on that matter were so dramatically unfounded. I had spent my whole life around doctors, had worked in hospitals, in France during the war… I _knew_ what I was talking about. I had _used_ some of the techniques that he talked about as if he were an expert.

 _If you'd accepted 'his' proposal back at the fair you would never be in need of an equal partner for these talks._ Those thoughts often swirled through my head. My mind was repeating the same sentences again and again. They all revolved around the same notion: _If you'd married 'him'_... _If you had married 'him'_ …

"But I haven't..." I whispered.

"What did you say, my love?" My husband looked up from the letter he was writing and once more, fixed his gaze on me.

"Hm?" I shook my head slightly. I really should work on my answers. Saying "hm?" all the time had never been a habit of mine. It shouldn't become one.

"I must have imagined it," he laughed, "I'm sorry, love. You know I don't want you to be any different than you are. Read all you like. I love you for who you are, my intelligent, beautiful wife."

"I'm sorry, too." I answered.

We each turned back to our separate tasks. This time the words had meaning but I was quickly losing interest. Why read a book if you couldn't talk to anyone about it?

 _You could go and visit_ _Doctor Clarkson, Richard…_

But could I really? I hadn't heard from him since the wedding one week ago. To be honest, I hadn't heard from him before that either. Not since the engagement had been announced.

 _Just another reason to go and visit him._

Would he want to see me?

"How is Doctor Clarkson, anyway? When do you plan on returning the book? You said he lent it."

This time I managed to swallow the "Hm?" on my tongue. "I don't know."

"You don't know how he is or when you are going to return the book?" He smiled again. How could he always be smiling at me?

"Both, I assume. I haven't seen or spoken to him since before our wedding."

"Well, if that's the case we should stop by the hospital soon. I wouldn't want you to neglect your friendship with him just because you are married to me."

Just then there was a resounding knock on the door.

"A Mrs Elsie Carson." the butler announced.

"Send her in."

Slowly, Mrs Carson stepped into the room. She was clutching her handbag in both hands and held it in front of her stomach. She didn't meet either of our eyes.

"What can we do for you?" I asked. For once my voice showed some interest. For the first time that day.

"I wanted to speak to you, Lady Merton. I don't know if it's my place..." She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the carpet she was standing on.

"Nonsense!" I said. "Of course it's your place. Say whatever you want to say." Dickie nodded, understanding that hee could stay in the room, even though Mrs. Carson had asked to talk to me. She didn't seem to mind him staying. In fact, she didn't seem to notice.

"Well, you see, … it's … um..."

I had never, in all the years I lived at Downton seen or heard Mrs Hughes – Carson! - stutter. "Yes..?" I slowly stood up and walked in her direction. It was meant to reassure her. It didn't work. She continued to speak, sounding even more insecure.

"It's Doctor Clarkson. I don't know what to do, who to ask for help. I've tried everything, but he just won't -" Now she was starting to sound hysterical.

"Calm down, Mrs. Carson." my husband commanded, albeit nicely. "What is it you want to tell Lady Merton about Doctor Clarkson?"

Mrs Carson lifted her head and looked directly into my eyes. I was shocked to see them slightly wet. "You see, Doctor Clarkson… he's very ill."

Thankfully, there was a sofa directly behind me for in that moment, my knees gave way.

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	5. Chapter 5 - Richard

**Hello everyone.**

 **I'm back. And no, I haven't abandoned this story. Finals happened. And well... "Welcome to Finals, may the odds be ever in your favour." Turns out they weren't. Anyway.**

 **Here is it, the next chapter. As always I thank batwings79 for betaing. You're the best beta, one could wish for. And thank you to all of you who reviewed. I love reading your thoughts on what I write.**

 **Disclaimer: Blablablubblub... Let's say, this is my continuation of a storyline that is totally not mine.**

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 _Right… Left... Right… Left… Right, through the flame, pause… Left, through the flame, pause… Right, flame…pain, out of the flame, pause… Left, flame … pain, pause… pause… pause_

 _Stop it! Out of the flame!_

I looked at my right hand. It stung. Judging by the angry red mark on it, it would continue to do so. I took another sip from the bottle I had placed on the floor beside me, before I tried to get up to get some cold water for my burned skin. The doctor inside me told me, that it would be the right thing to do. Cooling it would prevent it from forming too many blisters. I _knew_ that I _should_ do it.

Later.

My left hand instead.

 _Right… Left… Right… Left… Right, through the flame, pause… Left, through the flame…_

I woke up to find the sun shining in through the window. My head ached. Never before in all my life, had I experienced such a headache. An insistent pounding had taken up residence in my temples, as though something was trying to break my skin from the inside out. My eyes were _burning_ and seemed as though they were suddenly too big for my skull. And my forehead, I couldn't remember having run against a wall, but it sure felt like it.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I leaned back, expecting to feel the back of the settee against the back of my head. Instead my neck cracked as my throat stretched before my head was finally met with some resistance. I groaned. The sofa cushions? I cracked one eye open; I was indeed sitting on the floor.

My other eye opened as well. It was a mess, bottles strewn about, parts of my clothes lying scattered on the ground. I spotted my best waistcoat carelessly thrown into a heap on the floor. By the look of it, I must have stepped on it multiple times. I couldn't remember.

Slowly, I put my right hand to the carpet to push myself up. Pain shot through my whole arm and I immediately pulled my hand back to inspect it. Blisters? I had burned myself? When? How? I didn't need to wonder long. Next to me - upset, dried wax staining the rug - lay a candlestick. The candle was burned down completely. I couldn't recall having used it recently.

What day was it, anyway? Tuesday? No, that couldn't be. The we...the wedd...the wedding – I winced – had been on Sunday. And I had come back here and then...and then? How long had I been sitting here?

Again, I groaned. She had gotten married. She had finally married him. And she had looked so happy, so beautiful. And I had wanted her. I had wanted to be the man next to her. I would have made her just as happy, she would have looked just as beautiful, maybe even more so. But then again, why was I trying to fool myself with these notions? She could never look more beautiful than she had in that moment, I would never be the man next to her and I wanted her just as much now, if not more, as I did on that day.

The realization hit me once more, that _he_ had made her smile like that. Maybe she _did_ love him. Maybe he _was_ right for her. But where did that leave me? What was I to do?

Defeated. That's how I felt. I had lost, he had won, without even knowing that there had been a battle going on. But had it? No. No, for a battle to take place, the opponents should be in some sense equally equipped. Otherwise it was a farce. I was a farce...my love for her was a farce...she would never have chosen me.

Every muscle in my body tensed, as a pain, more intense than my headache, more severe than the sting from my burned hand, washed over me. Inside my head I cried out in anguish. Outside of it, I couldn't. Not anymore.

My muscles finally relaxed again, causing my left hand to slip from my lap where it had been lying the whole time and to make contact with glass.

 _Alcohol. Yes. Forget again, if only for a few hours...a few hours...or a few days..._

 _Up. Slowly! Right foot on the floor… yes. Yes, that's right. And now straighten the knee. Careful! Slowly! Hand on the settee. Push. Yes. Yes, that's it. Stand. Everything's turning. Why is everything turning? Deep breaths. Close your eyes. No! No, it's even worse! Open them again. Yes. That's better._

 _Now walk. One foot in front of the other. Right foot off the floor, move it forwards, back down to the ground. Now left. Left foot off the floor, move it forwards, back down to the ground. If only the turning would stop!_

 _Careful now! There's something on the floor. My waistcoat? Don't step on it. Don't step on it. Don't – back down to the ground. The ground, oh no. Waistcoat. It had been ruined anyway. Don't slip on it now. Slowly. Yes. That's right. Jacket?_

 _Why is everything turning? Shouldn't it stop at some point? Why are the walls coming so close in the hall?Right foot off the floor, right wall, push away from it, move foot forwards, back down to the ground. Left foot off the floor, left wall, push away from it, move foot forwards, back down to the ground…_

When I stepped out of the door, the frosty air sobered me to some extent. At least things weren't moving anymore. And my legs seemed to function properly. The fence! I just barely managed to catch myself on a wooden pole. Maybe my legs weren't working all that well? While my hands had reached out to steady me, I had heard some noise. Looking down, I realized that it must have been the result of the fence being hit by a bottle in my hand. I had taken yet another one with me. Were those things glued to my hands? Anyway. Now that it was here, I could as well drink it. It was freezing! The alcohol would warm me from the inside.

Somewhere, in the very far back of my mind I could hear my professional opinion trying to be heard. I ignored it.

I don't know, for how long I had walked. And I don't know where I was headed. My feet hurt. They hurt just like my hand had hurt when I had burned it. But there was no fire here, was there? My eyes quickly scanned the ground. No. No fire. Just snow. White beautiful snow. I took another sip and instantly felt warmer. Things started turning again, but I started to get used to it and walked on.

"Doctor Clarkson?" A voice brought me back into the present. Where was I?

"Doctor Clarkson, are you...are you alright?"

"Mrs. Mason?" I completely ignored her question.

"Why are you here, sitting on the stairs? And why aren't you wearing a coat and – Are you not wearing any shoes?!" She looked funny with her eyes wide open, gaping at me. But something about her question made me stop. Shoes? I looked down.

"That seems to be the case..." I answered slowly as I studied my feet. My socks were soaked. I tried moving my toes to see if they worked, but all I felt was an intense sting. I shrugged - at least I still felt them.

"But _why_ are you not wearing any shoes?" Would the girl just go and mind her own business?

"Well, I'm not entirely sure right now. The fact remains that I'm not wearing any, therefore I shall just head home and get some. Yes! That's what I'll do!" I stood up swiftly. Too swiftly, as I noticed nearly immediately.

The ground came rushing towards me. Suddenly pain flooded my head. The last thing I heard before everything went black was a woman's high pitched scream.

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	6. Chapter 6 - Elsie

**Right. Don't kill me, please, for taking so long before uploading another chapter. This one has actually been lying around on my computer for months now. I never got round to posting it though. I'm terribly, terribly sorry and to make matters worse I can't even give a proper excuse...**

 **I hope, some people are still with me in this one and that you will enjoy this chapter.**

 **I won't go ahead and promise you a certain date or time for the next update, just know that I have the story lined out. I know where this is going. I just need to write it down. I'll try and do so in a reasonable time.**

 **Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy the read.**

 **(Also please note that this hasn't been betaed. All the mistakes you find are mine.)**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, the story line is mine, I guess, but that doesn't really count, right?**

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"You did what?!" Seldom did my voice take on such a high pitch.

"I - I left him sitting on the steps to - to come here and to – to get you..." Shame flooded my mind when I saw the girl covering in front of me. She had become so much more confident over the years that I had known her; and here I was: Again making her cringe and avert her gaze. Scottish Dragon indeed.

"I'm sorry, Daisy. I didn't mean to get angry. Not at you, anyway. Him, however… What did you say he was doing?"

"He sat in front of Crawley House and he was drunk and when he got up he lost his balance and fell and he was unconscious and he didn't react when I called his name and I pulled him back on the stairs and he wasn't wearing no shoes and -"

"No shoes?!" Again, my voice sounded foreign to me. Who knew I could produce such a sound?

"No ma'am." Came the timid answer. "I didn't know who to turn to for help. And I don't know what to do and he'll freeze to death, surely and I don't know what to do. What am I to do?" She broke into tears when she had finished speaking. Apparently, seeing the good doctor in such a state had rattled her to her very core. I stood in front of her rather awkwardly, not knowing how to comfort her, when suddenly my brain processed just what Daisy had told me. He would freeze. It was snowing outside.

"Charles!" I called into the house, startling the girl in front of me. "Charles!"

Heavy footsteps announced the arrival of my husband.

"Yes, wife?" He said before he reached the door, not realizing that Daisy stood in front of it. "I, I mean, uhm… Yes, Mrs. Carson?"

"Oh drop it, Charles. Get your cloak and bring along mine. I need your help." He merely raised an eyebrow before turning around and grabbing our clothes. He helped me into my cloak before putting on his jacket.

"Keys, love." I called back to him over my shoulder, already on my way towards Crawley House. I vaguely registered Daisy walking some steps behind me, still sobbing. Charles would follow. I was sure of that.

#-#

"Richard." This time, my voice didn't sound shrill at all. His name was barely heard, not more than a whisper on the breath that left my lungs. He was sitting on the stairs of Crawley House, just like Daisy had said, still unconscious or sleeping. I couldn't tell from the distance. My legs wanted to run the last paces towards him, but I commanded them to keep taking normal steps. When I finally reached him my hand went to his forehead instantly, feeling his temperature. He was freezing cold.

"Charles!" I cried. "I need your help. We have to get him inside. His place or ours, I don't care. Just help me get him inside." Towards the end of my last sentence, my voice cracked and I felt tears brimming my eyes.

 _No crying now, Elsie Carson. That won't do no one no good_. Still I couldn't help but feel my throat constrict.

 _Wait until you know how he really is. Get him inside, warm him up. There's no sense in thinking the worst now_.

But how could I not think the worst? My best friend was sitting positively frozen on the steps of an abandoned house in which up to a few days ago the woman he loved had lived. Aside from being sure that he couldn't come out of this intact health-wise, I understood only now, the depth of his despair.

 _Oh Richard. Why couldn't you just talk to me?_

 _#-#_

We must have looked quite a sight. Between the three of us (technically only between Charles and myself. Daisy wasn't much of a help.) we carried Dr. Clarkson through the village towards his house. It was closer than our cabin and due to it being a doctor's home there would be some medicine. I didn't know all that much about most of it, but it was better to have something there rather than to have nothing at all.

When we reached his home, I noticed that the front door stood wide open. He must have forgotten to close it. That in itself made me frown, a frown that deepened once I realized that the result was that the house was as cold inside as the world outside.

"Start a fire, Daisy. Make it nice and big. We need it to be hot. Warm this place up. It won't do him any good if it's as cold in here as it is in the snow." The girl did as I told her

"And we will get him into his bedroom, Charles." My husband merely raised one eyebrow at me. I loved him all the more for not commenting on me entering another man's bedroom, for just doing as I told him to do.

When we reached his room, I left Richard with Charles and turned down the sheets on his bed before starting a fire in the fireplace. It wouldn't do him any harm to have a source of warmth here as well.

When I turned back around, Charles had already placed Richard on his bed.

"I, um, Elsie. You see, his clothes, well, um -"

"Out with it, husband.", I snapped. Charles immediately straightened his spine.

"His clothes are wet, Elsie. I'm going to remove them and would very much appreciate if you were to leave the room while I do so." I had to suppress a smile at his formal words. While I very much wanted to stay by Richard's side, I knew that arguing with my husband now would only lead to prolonging the time before Richard got rid of the clothes that were keeping him cold. Besides, I knew that he would be in good hands. Charles was a butler, after all, who knew how to handle the work of a valet. He would be able to help him change clothes.

"As you wish." I said, as I left the room. "I'll prepare some tea for him in the meantime. He'll need some once he wakes up." I simply refused to think about the possibility of him not waking up anytime soon.

When I entered the kitchen, Daisy was already busy preparing soup. I didn't know where she had found the ingredients, for I was sure, that Richard didn't keep anything edible in his house.

"I thought, a soup might help, once he wakes up." Daisy said. She had stopped sobbing and had instead again become the organized, efficient woman that I knew she was nowadays.

"A very good notion, Daisy. I was going to prepare some tea for Doctor Clarkson."

"I have already done that." she answered without turning away from the stove. 'Efficient indeed.' ran through my head as I went to the cupboard in order to retrieve a cup. I then went to the stove where Daisy was keeping the tea warm and poured some of the steaming liquid into the cup.

Before I left the kitchen, I stopped and without turning around to face her, addressed Daisy once more: "Thank you." My voice sounded so much smaller and weaker than it usually did.

"You don't know what this means to me, Daisy, you helping, I mean. He- , He's a very, very good friend of mine. If anything were to happen to him… Thank you for finding him, Daisy and for helping me now. Thank you so much." While talking, I had slowly turned to look at her. She just nodded once before turning back to preparing the food.

#-#

When I entered the bedroom again, Richard was lying in his bed, the blanket pulled to his chin, his clothes hung close to the fire in order to dry and my husband sat on a chair close to the bed, looking absentmindedly out of the window.

"Has he awoken once, Charles?" He startled when I started talking, his attention having been elsewhere.

"No, not once, love." Still his mind seemed to be somewhere else. He never called me 'love' in public or anywhere outside of our house. I sighed and crossed the room towards the bedside table where I deposited his tea. I then went back to Charles and rested my hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, my darling, for helping him. I know, you and him aren't exactly friends and that you don't usually deal with each other. This means a lot to me." I looked directly into his eyes and felt tears gathering in mine.

"Elsie, he's your friend and while it's true that I don't usually interact with Doctor Clarkson, I know how much his friendship means to you. It's nothing, really."

Before I could answer, I heard a groan from the bed and immediately turned my head to look at my best friend.

"Richard!" I grabbed his hand in both of mine. "Do you hear me? Richard, come back to us. Open your eyes." Very slowly, he did as I had asked him. Carefully, he turned his head in my direction.

"Elsie? Cold…", he whispered before his eyes closed again. "So cold…"

"Drink some tea against the cold, then. Here let me help you."

Before I had even reached for the cup, he was asleep again.

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	7. Chapter 7 - Isobel

**People, what can I say? I hate the fact that I'm turning out to be one of those people who don't manage to update their stories regularly. I do have some case of writer's block. I know where I want to go and how to go there but writing it down is a different matter altogether.**

 **I'm sorry, I really am, for not updating sooner. Thanks to the guest reviewer who reminded me to continue working on this story. Thanks for all the reviews! They mean a lot!**

 **Without further ado: Have a nice read!**

 **Disclaimer: I've become aware of the fact, that I'd totally be the worst professional writer ever. Therefore, Downton Abbey isn't mine (also because I know for a fact that I'm not Julian Fellowes) and neither are the characters.**

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The trek to the hospital was a blur. I remember being terrified as soon as I realized we were headed in the direction of the clinic rather than the Doctor's cottage. I'd seen Richard ill before. I'd seen him having a cold, having hurt an ankle, I had even witnessed him having a rather severe case of the flu. But in all those instances, he had been at home.

 _„_ _No need to go to the hospital. I am a doctor, remember? I will be able to take care of myself without having to sleep in a strange bed."_ , he would say in those instances. Despite saying that he would take care of himself, he never did and I always ended up visiting him as often as my schedule and propriety allowed to make sure that he took his medicine and, above all things, that he rested. He was so very forgetful when it came to his own health. It even bordered on neglectful and I sometimes found myself thinking that he was a hypocrite for scolding his patients when they did not do everything in their power to get better, while he, himself, couldn't be bothered with tasks as easy as taking a spoonful of medicine twice a day. It took me some years to become aware of the fact that he simply loved his occupation too much. While being concerned about other people's welfare, he simply forgot to consider himself as well. _„If you don't take care of yourself, you're not helping anyone. What help is a dead doctor?"_ , I had once said. He had looked at me with a stunned expression on his face. I think, this had been the first time he had realized, that in order to help others and in order to be able to put others first, he had to at least keep himself functioning. He tried to do so afterwards and I never had to scold him again. At least not as much as before.

This time, though, we went to the hospital and this alone scared me more than anything had in the recent past. The hospital was never a good sign and even though I loved medicine and found it vastly interesting, it would never cease to terrify me whenever I had to visit it for a loved one.

 _A loved one?_

Yes. I loved him. No. I love him. Romantic feelings put aside, in this moment I only cared for my very best friend and I didn't want him to be so sick that he would warrant a stay in the clinic. I didn't want him to suffer.

„How long has he been here?" My voice sounded more accusing than I wanted it to, but I couldn't help it. The other option would have been for my voice to sound small and quivering and while I had known Elsie Carson for quite some time now, I still didn't consider her close enough an acquaintance to appear weak in front of her. As long as I could help it, I would appear strong and professional.

„We brought him here on Thursday." she answered hurriedly.

„Thursday?!" I shrieked. „Why am I only being informed of this now?" I saw Mrs Carson flinch next to me before she collected herself and turned in my direction to level a cool and calculating gaze at me.

„I didn't think it was any of your concern, to be quite honest. My Lady." The ‚My Lady' came as if it was an afterthought. As though she had forgotten that she was addressing a lady. She had spoken out of turn and she knew it. A light glinted in her eyes and I identified it as protectiveness.

„Why, it is my concern!" I answered with finality. Despite of that, while she turned away from me, I heard her mutter „Is it?" in a way that showed that she was not even trying to hide how she felt about me in this instance.

I'm sure she hadn't meant it to be offending. At least not as offending as I felt it was.

„Yes, Mrs. Carson. Yes it is my concern. It is my concern whether my best friend is sick and in the hospital no less." She simply scoffed. I wondered if she would later regret having behaved like that in front of a lady. I knew, Mrs. Carson was not nearly as concerned with social standing and propriety as her husband. Nevertheless, she had been working in service for most of her life. She would most likely realize the inappropriateness of it all later. _But is it really that inappropriate? You've never been 'a lady' before. Why is it important that you are one now?_ For a second the voice in my head stunned me into immobility. Why _was_ it important all of a sudden? Had I not despised the family in the 'big house' for their ways, for their unwavering belief in their own superiority? Had I not worked hard to conduct myself in a different way, to show to the village that I was not one of them?

 _You aren't,_ the voice said. _You aren't one of them. You're Isobel Crawley, the widow of a doctor._ I hadn't thought of myself as Isobel Crawley in quite some time and I had never noticed, how much I missed being her. I had loved being a doctor's wife. I had loved being part of the middle class and, consequently, I had enjoyed looking down on the people who stood above me in status. What had changed? Why had I changed? _Because you married a lord_. In this moment - and not for the first time - I allowed myself to question my recent decisions and to regret them.

„The question remains: What has happened?" I asked in a less icy tone than I had used previously. It was not her fault that I had not been told before. And she _was_ right. It was none of my concern.

„We found him sick on Tuesday. I hadn't seen him since Sunday and on Tuesday, Mrs. Mason came to me to inform me that she had found Doctor Clarkson to be quite ill. I went to him and indeed he was developing what I assumed to be a severe cold. I decided that we would try to care for him at his home first. I know how opposed he is to being tended to in the hospital. Wednesday came and he was improving. But then on Thursday, he developed a fever. I tried to bring it down with the help of Mrs. Mason and my husband, but it only got worse. We decided to get him to the hospital and that's where he's been since." She never once looked at me while telling me this and I could feel that she had decided not to tell me certain aspects of the story.

„And why have you come to summon me now? If he's been in the hospital for two days already and you thought - and, admittedly, rightly so - that it was none of my concern? Why get me now?" To admit that she had been right in assuming that it was none of my concern was a peace offering on my part. I knew she had decided to take it, when she finally turned her gaze towards me again. Her eyes had softened in comparison to the icy look I had been bestowed on before and they were suspiciously glassy.

„He - He's been asking for you. And it broke my heart to tell him, that you're not there. I had to try to get you to see him again. I had to. He's been asking and he's so sick. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself, if I had not at least tried to abide by his last -" She didn't finish her sentence and the tears that had been lurking in her eyes finally spilled over.

I didn't need her to finish it, anyway. I knew what she wanted to say: His last wish. Seeing me was his last wish.

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 **Shall I write a nice little "TBC" here? Yeah. Let's do it! TBC...**

 **Please leave me a review, it means the world and makes me sit down and write the rest of the story.**

 **And yes, there's a "rest of the story" and no, it does not end within the next chapters. It is, in fact, turning out to be a rather long story. But you'll see, people, you'll see...**


	8. Chapter 8 - Lord Merton

**I'm honestly so proud of me right now! An update! After only a few days, not months. No. DAYS!**

 **Thank you all so much for your reviews. I loved them and they did indeed make me sit down and write the next part (something funny about that: Just when I had decided to tackle the chapter (and the decision wasn't too easy, because I couldn't decide whom to write first) and was in the process of putting together the playlist I wanted to listen to while writing (yes, there's a playlist and a rather good one, I might add), my grandmother called and needed help with her computer. So I couldn't write it then after all. But I still did it later on. I can't believe it!).**

 **Now, I am aware of the fact that some people might not like me too much for this chapter, because it is not what some of you wish for. Patience, the next chapter will finally be what you're waiting for.**

 **Anyway, enough ramblings for now. Have a nice read!**

 **Disclaimer: I find it really impressive, how some people write proper, official-sounding disclaimers. About how they don't own the stuff, how there's no copyright infringement intended and the whole shebang. I mean, is there really anyone here who believes that I want to steal the characters and make money with this badly written ramblings? In case there is: No, I don't.**

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I love my wife; I really do. I'm proud to say that I had married for love. Contrary to most people my age who decided to get married again, I had not simply settled for a companion - no. I had married for love. And how could someone - anyone, really - not love Isobel Grey, former Crawley?

The first thing I had noticed about her, were her eyes. They sparkled so very passionately whenever she talked about something she cared about. And Isobel cared about many things.

The more I got to know her, the more I learned about her, the stronger I was pulled in by her warmth and her devotion. Isobel, my Isobel, was just so incredibly… warm. There was no other word I could think of that would manage to capture the essence of my wife more accurately.

Naturally, I also found her attractive. Again, who wouldn't? I wanted her to be my wife. I wanted this woman to share the rest of my life with me.

And at first I had been sure, that she wanted the same. I had been sure, that she loved me, just as I loved her. When she accepted my proposal, when she finally said that she really wanted to marry me, I was beyond happy. I had managed what so many people failed to accomplish.

When she pressed for a wedding in winter, I had been convinced that it was due to her wanting to become my wife as soon as possible. Granted, I did not want to get married in winter. I would have waited until the summer or spring at the very least, but since she wanted it this way, I was more than willing to agree.

Admittedly, I did not like lilies decorating the church, either. Lilies were for funerals. Who wants to showcase the flower of funerals during a wedding? Should this have made me question her intentions? It didn't. I did like the way the church looked in the end. Therefore, I saw no reason to complain.

I think, the love in a relationship is never evenly distributed. There is always one who loves the other more, always one who cares more about the relationship than the other party does. Quite frankly, marriages in our circles are very seldom about love. Usually, they sign a contract. They assure ongoing wealth and stability. That's why I did count myself to be so very lucky. Not only had I managed to secure a marriage based on tender feelings for another person, I had, furthermore, believed to have found someone with whom I shared an equal kind and amount of regard. I had believed to have been proven wrong in one of my basic assumptions about life: There were relationships in which both partners held an equal measure of affection for the other.

It turns out, my initial assumption had been right, after all.

It had nothing to do with Doctor Clarkson himself. I couldn't claim to know him especially well, but I believed he was a decent man and a formidable doctor. It really had nothing to do with him and it certainly was _not_ his fault. Why then, did I hate him so much?

 _"Now, hate is a very strong word."_ I heard my mother say in my head. _"People of our circles do not 'hate'. They resent, maybe detest something. Hating is for the lowly people and even they do it rarely. Humans are not made for hate."_ I heard her in my head and it made me smile. As a good child I had always believed what my mother told me. Whatever she said was right and for most of my life I found especially the words she said about hate to be true. I remembered them often and tried to live by them whenever someone or something angered me. I had never _hated_ someone in my life. Not once. And now, at the age of 72 I suddenly did. I hated him with a passion. I still do. And it angers me! Why did it prove so hard to accept that he was my wife's friend? I had known that they were friends before I married her. I had known before I _proposed_! Why had my high regard for the man turned into hatred in less than a month?

 _You know why, Richard.,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like my mother said in my head. Why was it that she was the one who talked to me in my head?

 _You_ resent _him, because he is taking her away from you. You've really never been good at sharing._ That might be true, but I damn well shouldn't have to be 'good at sharing' in regards to my wife! I shouldn't have to share her with anyone! And a doctor no less. She was a lady now, Baroness Merton and despite that the person she spent most of her time with was the Doctor?

Truth be told, 'spending time with him' might have been the wrong way to phrase it.

Doctor Clarkson had fallen ill and quite gravely so, I believe. And my wife had run off as soon as she was told that he was not well. This in itself had not angered me and it had also not made me question her love for me. It was something that friends do. When one becomes sick, the other one makes sure that they are alright. I had assumed that this would be what she would want to do. It wasn't. What had made me doubt her love for me was her staying with him for a over a week without contacting me once. Wasn't this something that spouses did? Weren't marriage partners supposed to let the other one know how they are at the very least? Weren't they supposed to inquire after their partner's wellbeing in the case of separation? She had not contacted me. Not once. This was what made me hate him - _"Resent, my dear!" -;_ this knowing that she was with him even though we had only been married for just barely two weeks; this knowing she took care of him even though she was supposed to care for and about me; this knowing she had chosen him over me. All of those things weren't really his fault, especially since he was in no condition to do anything about it. (I had been told - not by my wife - that he had just recently awoken from a very deep and apparently fever-induced sleep.) It was, however, so much easier to hate him than to doubt Isobel's love for me. As long as I could make myself believe that it was his fault that she was with him instead of with me, I would not have to consider the possibility that I was simply not enough.

If our roles would have been reserved, if she had married him - I shuddered to think about it! - and I would have fallen ill, would she have come to me as she had run to him?

 _She wouldn't have._ This voice sounded like my own voice and it appeared painfully resigned. _She wouldn't have come to you and if she had come, she wouldn't have stayed as she does with him now._

For a second that could have also been hours, I wasn't sure, this thought made me pause. As soon as my subconsciousness had voiced this fact, I realised that it was true. With this realisation came a profound hurt accompanied by a certain sense of tranquility and peace. After only two weeks of marriage I was certain that my wife had married the wrong Richard.

Was she aware of that fact too? And if so, did she regret marrying me? I did not want her to regret it. I wanted her to be happily married to be, I wanted her to believe in the both of us as a union. I wanted her to love me.

 _You can't change this, now, can you?_ No. No, I couldn't. _So what are you going to do about it?_ Was there anything that could be done about it?

 _"Humans are not made for hate, they are made for love. It is your task to make people love you. People who love you are easy to lead, which, in turn, makes you and the estate successful. You can make anyone love you, my child. Anyone."_ My mother's voice was back in my head. For the first time in years I remembered how she used to end her speech about hate.

 _You can make anyone love you._ Anyone… That included my wife. I could make my wife love me.

The question that remained now, was how to go about it.

 _First of, you have to get her back here and away from that Doctor. She belongs here not in Downton._ Yes. That sounded sensible.

I would get her back. I would fight for her and my marriage. I would make her realise that she had married the right Richard. I would make her love me. I would show her that she had married the perfect gentleman. I would send her flowers, buy her gifts, take her on trips. Anything, to make her see just how lucky she was to have married me.

But first things first. I had to go to Downton and get her away from Doctor Clarkson.

God, how I hated that man!

 _"Resent, child. Resent!"_

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 **TBC... (there you have it.)**

 **I don't know how you think about it, but I really like this chapter. I don't know why but I do.**

 **Please leave me a review if you can find a minute. Knowing what you people like (and don't like) about the story helps me sit down and keep writing.**


	9. Chapter 9 - Richard

**Hello everyone. First of: Thanks for the reviews. They were nice as always and I do very much appreciate them, so please please please keep telling me what you think.**

 **Second: It is quite funny. The method I talk about in this chapter here (you'll see what I mean) does really work. So, if you ever find yourself in pain, try it out. It really helps.**

 **Third: This will probably be the last update for some time again. I haven't written the next chapter yet. I have, however, (and I'm quite proud of myself for having done that!) started writing a timeline and have decided what's going to happen in the next chapters. So, it shouldn't take months and months this time.**

 **And lastly: Thank you so much for reading still and sticking with me and this little story. This chapter might finally be what some of you have been waiting for. It's still not Isobel's pov but it's close to it. Have a nice read.**

 **Disclaimer: Nothing's changed disclaimer-wise. Still not mine, still no money I make with this, just for fun, ... .**

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Air was moving through my nostrils. It moved steadily and warmed my skin in the process. It seemed to be especially hot and I could not remember my breath ever being quite this warm before. Then again, I had never before registered my breathing quite so explicitly. It was a strange feeling. Strange, but soothing nonetheless.

I kept my eyes closed. On the one hand, I felt as though my body was not quite ready for me to open my eyes. I felt as though my body needed some more time to become consciously aware of itself. There was no need for any additional stimulus and impressions just yet. On the other hand, I was not quite sure that I knew _how_ to open my eyes. For some reason, I felt as though I had forgotten how to move my lids on command. While under any other circumstances this would have scared me, I didn't panic at the notion in this very moment. Quite the opposite. I enjoyed being alone with my mind and body for the time being.

Focusing on my breathing led to becoming aware of movement in my chest. With every inflow of air, my chest lifted while my lungs expanded. Another experience, I had never consciously noticed. It felt unbelievable. Feeling how your body survives and functions is one of those things that makes you understand how complex a system the human body is.

For a while - I don't know how long, really. Things, especially the perception of time were a blur. - I simply enjoyed feeling my body work. While I did relish it, I soon started wondering how I had come to be in this state. What followed was a mental and very thorough self-assessment of myself.

It was something I had learned when I was just a little boy. I had been playing outside with friends, when I had fallen off a tree. The impact had forced the air out of my lungs and left me lying on the ground unable to move. A tremendous pain emanated from _somewhere_. As a result of being unsatisfied with not being able to identify where my pain had come from, I had started mentally walking through each part of my body until I had located the source of my agony. To my astonishment, it had worked. I had been able to not only locate where my pain originated from, but to also focus on this point and work myself through the agony. It was as if I had been able to locate and enclose the anguish and as a result of that, I was able to cope with it more efficiently. I had used this method ever since.

I used it on my patients too. _Patients? That means I am a doctor._ I neither knew why I suddenly realised that, nor did I think about it further in this moment. I returned back to assessing myself. As I had done since I was a little boy, I started with my feet. I focused my thoughts on them completely and listened to my body. _Anything wrong with them?_ There wasn't. I then moved on to my whole legs and repeated the process, again coming up with nothing out of the ordinary. Moving through my whole body in this fashion revealed that there was a dull sting in my chest and trachea, my eyes felt unbelievably heavy under their closed lids - I guessed that this might have been another reason for my not opening them. -, my lips felt dry and cracked and there was a pounding behind my forehead that spread all the way to my ears. Other than that, I felt alright. Tired and worn but alright. There seemed to be no broken bones and no split skin, which made me wonder once more, _how_ I had come to be in this position.

Maybe it was time to think about opening my eyes once more. The thought alone made me groan and immediately my ears registered some movement to my right. It had sounded very close to me; some rustling of clothes, a chair scraping minimally against the floor and a gasp. _A gasp? Who was gasping next to me? Maybe whoever was next to me was in pain? Wake up! Wake up!_ , my inner voice screamed. But I didn't. I, instead, wondered why the gasp had sounded so very familiar. Could gasps do that? Could the rapid intake of breath sound _familiar_? Apparently, it could. What I was not able to do, was to pinpoint _why_ it sounded familiar and in which way it felt so. It made warmth spread through my whole system and made my heart flutter and a name flashed through my brain for a second.

 _Isobel…_ Isobel. I felt the corners of my mouth lift up into a small smile. The name sounded nice. It sounded beautiful, like a warm embrace. It sounded like home. Isobel…

And it all came crashing back into my mind:

Trying to ask her to marry me, _Gunga Din_ , whiskey and pain, humiliation… the war, fear, tremendous fear, _France_ , more fear… hope, friends, her _son_ and anguish, so much crying and wailing and cursing everything I knew for the unfairness of it all… a very slow recovery and always her, in every thought, every day, always _her_. And then him. And her slowly slipping away, more whiskey, more wailing and more cursing, this time on my behalf and once more about how life could be so very _unfair_. A wedding.

All of a sudden my eyes flew open and my upper body lifted into a sitting position. "Isobel." I rasped, followed by a moan. I should have remembered my previous self-assessment. Had I done so, I would have reconsidered sitting up quite so abruptly. As I had failed to do so, I now felt all of the pain I had identified earlier multiply. The dull sting in my chest increased to a feeling as though someone was stabbing knifes into my torso. My windpipe seemed to have started burning and my head felt as though it was going to explode any minute now.

The whole sequence couldn't have lasted more than a second and in the next instance, I heard something hit the floor. I turned my head in the direction the crash had come from and saw through blurry eyes that a chair had toppled over. My vision slowly started to be less fuzzy and finally my eyes found the source of the gasp. All of a sudden, I gazed into pools of brown and time had once more frozen over.

Trying to wrap my head around her being here in … the hospital? _Never mind how I had gotten here_. Trying to understand her presence in my life proved to be a herculean task. I could not, for the life of me, understand why she was here. This did not mean that I did not enjoy her being next to me. It felt like I was finally whole again after weeks, months of being not quite complete. My heart rejoiced while at the same time it cried out in anguish.

"Richard.", she whispered. It was so soft a sound that I would have been convinced I had imagined, had I not seen her lips moving. Her eyes were starting to become suspiciously moist and I felt the sudden urge to hand her my handkerchief or to console her. I could not think of a reason why she would be on the verge of tears but I was too much of a gentleman to ask her, coupled with being much too shy around her to even consider asking her about her feelings.

"Hello, Isobel.", I said and for a moment I had forgotten that I had wanted to ask her why I was in the hospital and why _she_ was here with me. Nothing mattered in this moment except her being where she was, where she belonged: next to me.

While I had spoken, her tears had finally won the fight against her composure and they started flowing along her cheeks. I was mortified. My Isobel. _Yours?_ Crying! _Your Isobel?_ I nearly growled at the voice in my head. Didn't it understand that right now she was mine in every way that counted? She was next to me, she was with me and - I quickly looked to my left and right - there was no Lord Merton anywhere in our immediate vicinity. For reasons unknown to me she had decided to come and when I had woken up, she was the first person I saw. She must have spend quite some time next to my bed, I assumed.

"Don't cry, please. I can't stand it to see you cry." My voice still sounded terribly raw and raspy and speaking in itself hurt. I figured that I must have been asleep for quite some time otherwise my voice would not feel quite so… unused.

A sound I had not expected to hear pulled me out of my musings: A laugh. Not a full belly laugh like you hear from people at a fair; not a forced and affected giggle as I had so often heard from the women at the Abbey. No, it was a delicate and honest sound, coming from the richest and most beautiful voice in the world. Isobel was laughing and while she did so, tears were slowly streaming down her face.

She looked at me with the most angelic, teeth-showing smile and despite the tears she looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her look before. For a second I wondered if I would ever cease to be amazed by her beauty.

"You really shouldn't be sitting up.", she finally said through her tears and smile and in the next moment, and against propriety and etiquette, she had thrown her arms around my neck and was hugging me. Before long, I could feel her tears dampen my hospital gown.

All the while she kept laughing softly.

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 **TBC (and I promise. I do!)**

 **I do like this chapter quite a lot. Tell me what you think about it?**


	10. Chapter 10 - Isobel

**... Hi? I'm sorry again for not updating sooner. Life kind of got in the way. I hope, the next update will come sooner and I'm sure it will. I really only need to figure out whose perspective it'll be from. Not an easy task, let me tell you!**

 **Anyways. I hope everyone's well and that someone's still reading this story. For those of you who have reviewed and have continued to do so for most of this story: Thanks so much! It really means the world!**

 **Without further ado, let's start the chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: Now, when I said "Life got in the way" I didn't mean that I had suddenly gained any kinds of rights to the whole setting and series. Same disclaimer as always. Not mine, no money, yadda yadda...**

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Waiting. The hours tick by slowly, seconds stretch into days, minutes stretch into years, moments into decades. And all the while hoping. Hoping that the next instance the waiting will be over. Hoping that, if I only stare hard enough at his face, his eyes will open.

There are many different types of waiting. There's the kind of waiting you do, when you know someone is going to call on you soon. Everything is ready and prepared, the only thing that is missing is the person that was supposed to have shown up ten minutes ago. This kind of waiting leaves you annoyed. Annoyance directed at the person but also at yourself, because you hate to admit that you've become one of those overly punctual and proper people who care about such things as being ten minutes late. What's ten minutes anyway?

Then there's the kind of waiting that happens when a loved one was meant to contact you days ago and despite telling them a million times that they " _better not forget to send a letter."_ you haven't received even a note. This kind of waiting leaves you apprehensive, but also sure that everything must be alright. _No news is good news!_ , they say and it's true.

Another kind of waiting is the one when you know you're going to see your love soon. This is by far the most wonderful kind of waiting. It leaves you slightly warm throughout your whole body with a flutter in you stomach and your heart rate increased, you palms sweating and yourself constantly checking that your hat is still precisely where you want it to be. I had not experienced this kind of waiting in a while. When I tried to think back to the last time I had experienced it, _his_ face swirled through my head. It must have been a few years ago, shortly after the fair, when I had not known how to behave around him after I had so carelessly rejected him.

 _Everything always evolves around him…_ Why had I only understood this now? Why had I only now acknowledged that every moment, every instance of my recent life could be traced back to him? Why had I only now become aware of how his opinion meant the most to me; of how his presence in a room instantly calmed me; of how, in a sea full of laughing people, his small and vague smile was the only thing my eyes focused on, the only thing that mattered? My whole existence depended on him and I, stupid as I am, had only realised this now.

Which lead me to the last kind of waiting. This kind of waiting is the most dreaded. There is nothing endearing about it, nothing nice and nothing annoying. In the strict sense, you would wish for it to be annoying because the existence of annoyance naturally excludes a certain degree of graveness in a situation. There was no lack of graveness right now.

The kind of waiting I was experiencing was the one in which you are counting the heartbeats until Death decides to loosen its grasp on someone.

When we had arrived at the hospital and my eyes landed on him immediately, my heart stopped beating. Had I not been sure that it was not very likely, I would have insisted it stopped for a whole minute. Air quickly entered my lungs and stayed there, my feet refused to move another step and my arms froze next to my body in mid motion. I was completely and utterly shocked.

The next moment, I found myself right next to him, frantically checking his pulse points, searching, searching for any sign of life inside his body.

 _He cant' be alive._ , I thought. _People who are alive don't look like this._ But I refused to believe that he could be anything but. He simply _had to_ be alive. I needed him to be alive. I needed _him_!

When my fingers finally registered a weak pulse, the breath that I had sucked in when I entered the room, finally left my lungs again. It was faint, but undeniably there.

Later on, I became aware of how warm he was. Had I been less shocked and more observant I would have immediately been able to come to the conclusion that he could not be … dead. I wasn't though and therefore, tears started streaming down my face as soon as the never in my fingertips send the information to my brain that there was a pulsing motion beneath his skin.

From this moment on, my eyes refused to leave his face.

For six days, he slipped in and out of consciousness. The first time he woke up was two days after I had first come to the hospital. I had since tried to reduce his fever by bathing his face, hands and arms and as much of his chest as I dared, which wasn't much, given that we weren't in private. His fever refused to break though and every time I woke up from dreaded sleep that my body demanded against my explicit desire, I was sure that he must have died on me during the minutes or hours I had not been keeping vigil over him. When I woke from one of those short sleeping sequences and my eyes sought out his face to check for breathing sounds and motions, I startled when I was met by his grey ones. For two solid minutes we just stared at each other. Finally, after what felt like years, the corners of his mouth lifted and he smiled one of his small smiles that I hadn't been aware of missing so much.

"Isobel.", he simply said and his voice sounded hoarse and dry but I didn't care because he was speaking which meant that he would get better, right?

"Richard.", I answered and tried to smile, but my body was so tired and exhausted that my facial muscles failed to cooperate properly. He didn't seem to mind.

"Are you thirsty?", I asked before immediately berating myself. _Of course he is!_

When I tried to reach for a some water, his voice stopped me.

"Have I died?", he asked. It was a good thing, too that my hand had not reached the glass yet, for I would have let it drop. I gaped at him.

"Pardon me?" My voice had climbed up about twenty octaves.

"Never mind. It's nice to see you.", he shrugged before he closed his eyes again.

"Richard, wait!" I tried to get him to drink something, to stay alert but he had already fallen back to sleep.

The next time he woke, he didn't recognise me and kept asking for his dog, Annie. When I told him that he had no dog, he answered with "You're a very kind lady and I appreciate you being here, but since I don't know you, how could you possibly know whether I have a dog? I've had Annie ever since I was five." I didn't point out to him, that Annie still being alive was beyond possible given his age and the general life expectancy of dogs.

Similar things happened every day. Sometimes, he acknowledged me but more often than not he didn't. I was slowly loosing hope. His fever continued to stay high and each time he woke, he seemed more delirious.

Only once did I think about my husband. It was during one of his nightmares, which he had frequently. I often tried to shake him out of them but I usually failed to manage to do so. He would cry out for different people all the time. His mother, Annie, Edward, … me. Every time he called my name, I grasped his hand and told him that I was right beside him and sometimes this helped in calming him down. Once, this lead to him getting even more agitated.

"Isobel. Isobel, no.", he cried. "Don't. Don't go. No!" When I tried to tell him that I didn't plan on going anywhere, his words interrupted me: "No. Lord Merton. No. Please… No…". One lonely tear was slowly rolling down his cheek. It broke my heart.

Furthermore, it reminded me of my husband. For the five days I had been in the hospital, I had not thought of him once. As soon as that thought entered my head it left again. There was no time to think about him now. Richard needed me. He was my priority right now.

On the seventh day, his fever finally broke. I had gotten used to his occasional waking and had started to recognise the signs. His eyelids fluttered and his breathing got heavier. This time, though, I heard a moan. This was new. Usually, he seemed to be relatively free of physical pain, at least he never gave any indication of it being otherwise. This time, though, he moaned and I gasped. He froze. In the next second, his upper body shot upright and he was sitting up in bed which caused him to groan once more, this time clearly caused by some form of pain. Startled, I shot up from my chair causing it to topple over. His head quickly turned in its direction before his eyes settled on me.

"Richard.", I breathed because for the first time in days his eyes seemed to be fully alert. I was sure, that he was fully with me in this moment.

"Hello, Isobel.", he said and it was as if those words had opened all the floodgates within me. I couldn't contain my tears. He was awake. He was consciously talking to me, recognising me. He was _alive_.

For a while he looked mortified before his currently raspy voice was heard again: "Don't cry, please. I can't stand it to see you cry.". Without me wanting it to, a laugh burst from my mouth. Always thinking about everybody else first. How was it possible that this amazing, beautiful, endearing man was thinking about me crying when he had seemingly just escaped death? The more I thought about it, the more I had to laugh, all the while the tears kept streaming down my face. The look on his face could only be described as puzzled and I wouldn't have been surprised if he had tilted his head sideways like a puppy who can't understand something. The thought made me smile. For the first time in days - No! Years! - I felt my face stretch into a genuine and real smile. It nearly felt unfamiliar but at the same time so very comfortable. Being here, next to him, smiling in a way that I used to consider distinctly _me,_ enjoying life for the moment, felt like home.

"You really shouldn't be sitting up.", I finally said, because quite frankly, I couldn't think of anything else to say and because it was the first thing that came to my mind other than the feeling of complete belongingness that had engulfed me.

If it were possible, he would have looked even more confused. And while I sat there, I mentally told Death that he would not get him. Not if I had anything to say about it. He would _not_ get him. Not now, not ever. This thought made me suddenly throw my arms around his shoulders and hug him. For a second, he froze. After a while, I felt his arms encircle me and heard him inhale deeply before laying his cheek on the top of my head.

Soon, I felt him starting to smile, too.

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 **TBC! Definitely! The question is always _when_ I'll continue writing. Reviews do help in motivating me to write faster and more frequently, though. So... Leave me a review? **


	11. Chapter 11 - Elsie

**What can I say? I'll spare you the excuses. If there's someone still reading this, thank you! From the bottom of my heart, thank you. And I am sorry for not managing to update regularly. Life keeps getting in the way. Things keep me busy and I never felt up to writing.**

 **I hope this update will satisfy. Let me know your thoughts about what's going on. I'd love to hear if anyone already knows the direction this is headed.**

 **The chapter itself is kinda just setting up a few things and moving us on to the next couple of chapters which should be more interesting again.**

 **Loads of love.**

 **Disclaimer: Not my characters. I do not nor do I intend to make money with this.**

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Diseases will forever remain a huge, incomprehensible mystery to me. There are so many of them. And each and every one of them seems to be worse than the last. And none of them make any sense. One day, a person who seems to be dying, wakes up and is right as rain, while at the same time, a healthy, young man drops dead in the middle of the day. How is that possible? How is that fair? Why do people study something that is so utterly random and completely beyond any reason?

He had woken up. Nearly a week after the Baroness had arrived, he finally woke up and seemed to be alright. When I got to the hospital on that day, I found Richard and the Baroness in each others arms, both smiling and clinging to the other as though their lives depended on it. He had looked so calm, so happy. I couldn't get over my hatred for Isobel Grey for marrying the Baron though. In my head she had turned into 'The Baroness' - a cold, unfeeling person. If she hadn't married Lord Merton, Richard would be alright.

But in this moment, I could have kissed her. There was no doubt in my mind that she was the sole cause for Richard's apparent recovery. Without her, he would have died. I was sure of that.

He was in pain. Constantly. He tried not to show it, but every now and again he let the odd wince or moan slip. When asked about it, he always declined to feel anything but 'perfectly normal', as he put it. His head seemed to be what gave him the most trouble. He frequently had to rest his eyes and he slept a lot. Often, he rubbed his neck. I asked him about it once but he simply attributed it to having been lying down so long. "My muscles are just a bit tight.", he had said and I had believed him. It made sense, didn't it? And as a doctor, he knew what he was talking about.

On the first day of his supposed recovery, the pain started off in his head, moved to his neck and seemed to settle permanently in his back. I didn't think this to be normal, but everyone assured me that it was nothing to worry about. "The body is very weak after a flu like the one Doctor Clarkson just had. It needs time to get back to being completely healthy. Pain in the muscles and joints is completely normal", everyone assured me. But his headache. Surely, a headache such as this was not normal? He was wincing every time he turned his head! "It's just a bit stiff, Elsie, is all.", he said. "I'll be back to my former self in no time."

On the second day after his supposed 'recovery', he started showing signs of nausea. He refused to eat anything, claiming an upset stomach and often moaned at the sight of the food that was brought in for the patient on the cot next to his, a young man recovering from meningitis. He had been brought in while Richard was still in and out of consciousness. From what I had gathered, he was receiving some form of antibiotic in a very high dosage. Most of the time, he was sleeping.

Any louder noise made Richard angry. It started on the first day when a nurse dropped something and he got into a ten-minute rant about how it should be forbidden to drop things in a room where sick people where trying to recover. His sensitivity to noises only got worse on the next day. It got to a point where talking to him in anything louder than hushed tones made him wince and cranky.

Overall, it didn't look like he was recovering. At least in my eyes, it didn't. People, however, agreed on how he was getting better. Apparently, no one had believed he would wake up again. He had already been considered to be in too bad a state from the flu to make it out of the hospital in anything other than a coffin. Thinking about this still made me choke up and cry.

"Why are you crying, Elsie? Why is everyone always crying around here?", he said and took my hand.

"I'm just relieved to have you back among the living, is all."

A small, lazy smile spread across his lips for a second before he quickly dropped it and his hand shot to his forehead.

"Blasted headache." he murmured. We didn't talk much after this. Usually we just sat in silence during my visits.

"Have I thanked you?", he started, pulling me out of my thoughts again. "For saving my life." he continued when he saw the questioning expression on my face.

"You don't need to thank me for that, Richard. That's what friends are for." I said. "Thanks anyway." he said in a way that made it clear that he didn't need and want me to respond.

After another half an hour, I stood up and prepared to leave. He didn't say anything, just followed my process with his eyes. I knew how much it hurt his head to move his eyes around so I tried to stay in his field of vision. When I was just about to grab my purse and say my goodbye, the food for the patient next to him was brought in. Richard moaned once more. This time, though, his moan suddenly turned into retching and I only had enough time to pull my bag out of the way before he started throwing up on the floor violently.

The whole room went quiet and everyone's shocked eyes landed on him. None of them looked as shocked as Richard himself did, though.

Not knowing what else to do, I asked one of the nurses for something to clean up with. She returned with a bucket full of water and a rag. I quickly set to mopping off the floor. All the while I kept my eyes on my task.

"Elsie, please. You don't have to do this." he said in a weak voice.

"I know, I said. But it makes me feel useful and I don't mind. It's not the first bit of vomit I cleaned up in my life. Working in a house where alcohol is freely flowing on many an occasion ensured my fair share of vomit-mopping." I joked. He laughed quietly, then moaned again. His headache.

When I was done cleaning, I grabbed my bag. "I have to go now, Richard.", I said needlessly. "Thank you, Elsie. For cleaning up, for coming every day, for saving my life. Thank you." He grabbed my hand once more and gave it a light squeeze.

"Anytime." I said and squeezed his hand back. I stood next to him for some time before letting his hand fall on the blankets on his bed.

"Would you mind closing the curtains?" he asked when I started walking. "The light is way too bright today."

I smiled a sad smile at him and did as he asked.

I didn't point out to him that the sun was already setting outside and that it was rather dark in the room. "Sensitivity to noise and light is perfectly normal." Lady Merton had said on one of the rare occasions she managed to pull her thoughts away from Richard long enough to talk to me. "It'll wear off in a few days. He's had a very severe case of the flu. We'll have to let him recover some more." she had went on, her gaze already back on the doctor sleeping on the bed. I don't remember ever seeing a softer smile on her face. ' _Why did she not realise that she loves him?'_ I wondered for the millionth time. It was really such a pity. If she had acted on and acknowledged her feelings we wouldn't be in this situation. Richard wouldn't have gotten sick. His heart wouldn't have been broken. I wouldn't secretly look down on a woman I had previously admired for her courage. And Isobel Grey would still be Isobel Crawley, maybe even Isobel Clarkson, deliriously happy because she had married the man she loved. She did love him. There was no question in my mind about it.

Nothing could be done about it now. When I had closed the curtains, I took one more look at my friend lying on the bed. His eyes were closed again and he looked nearly peaceful. In a few minutes, I was sure, Lady Merton would return from her visit at the house and his minuscule smile would turn into a proper smile. Relief would radiate off him and they'd each only focus on the other.

I decided not to tell anyone about the throwing up incident. It was between me and Richard and the people who had witnessed the situation, none of whom would tell anything about it to anyone. He didn't need embarrassment added to the things bothering him. There was enough going on in his life already.

"I can hear you thinking, Elsie. Go. I'm alright. I promise." he said with his eyes still closed.

I just hoped he was right.

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